


Oceans; Vast and Deep

by Nezzid



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kidfic, M/M, Mycroft Holmes is the real sociopath, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Sociopathy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:33:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nezzid/pseuds/Nezzid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Power, money, and influence mean nothing to Mycroft, not really. These things are only a means to an end. A means dedicated to Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oceans; Vast and Deep

**Author's Note:**

> Perhaps he did love her. Maybe.

Mycroft believed that he loved Mummy. He wasn’t quite sure- there didn’t seem to be much conclusive data on the subject. But when he thought of her, he found that the ever persuasive irritation that usually accompanied him when he had to deal with all of the people just too _stupid_ to understand him was missing.

Mummy, unfortunately, was stupid just like everyone else; but she was smart enough to realize that Mycroft wasn’t. She tended to speak to him as if he was an exceptionally short adult. She understood that he was more than a precocious and distant seven year old- she knew that he was brilliant and decided to treat him as such.

Mummy allowed him to go about his day unimpeded and chastised any of the manor staff that tried to smother him into playing like an infant child.  Mummy pushed Father to acquire the team of tutors that he was already surpassing and battled against him when he tried to find more ‘appropriate’ pastimes for Mycroft than his experiments and studying.  She never seemed disturbed by his lack of emotional depth and just quietly explained other’s reactions and societal norms in basic psychological terms.

But even all those attributes paled in comparison to one fact: Mummy had never asked him to be ‘normal’.  Mycroft distinctly remembers one of his earliest tutors being dismissed due to her inability to cope with the fact that he was not, in fact, a normal child.

 

 

> “I have to admit,” Mycroft heard his tutor Ms. Kent explaining in a distressed manner after he was asked to wait outside of the study as she and Mummy spoke,” I find myself rather concerned. He never wants to play with or talk to anyone Mrs. Holmes.”
> 
> “Perhaps he hasn’t much to say.  Mycroft is quite enthralled with his lessons and experiments and that leaves little time for any social niceties I’m sure.” Mummy had dismissed.
> 
> “I’m not sure you understand Mrs. Holmes,” she spoke in an urgent and hushed voice, “Mycroft may be brilliant, no one could ever deny that, but he is just so very cold _._  I mean, I’ve never even seen him smile- all four year olds smile Mrs.  Holmes. And when he speaks to us, his voice is just so _empty._ He’s just not normal! I’m just concerned that-”
> 
> “Well,” Mummy cut in tersely “You no longer have to concern yourself with anything that has to do with my son as we will no longer require your services as a tutor for him.”
> 
> “What? I- I’m just – just trying to inform of what you have to admit is his disturbing lack of emotive behaviour Mrs. Holmes. I meant no disrespect towards you or your son.”
> 
> “I am well aware of **all** things that deal with my son Ms. Kent; I can assure you of that.  Your ‘concern’ over Mycroft’s behaviour- emotive or otherwise- has very little to do with my offense, other than to highlight the fact that you must believe me to be quite the idiot to not notice that the only child I have ever birthed isn’t  giggling in front of some asinine children’s program like other reception students. No, if I am offended it must be because, you- a Maths tutor for a _four year old_ \- are somehow ‘concerned’ that my child is not something dull and common! He’s brilliant and extraordinary! And I won’t allow you, or anyone else on my estate try to force him into behaving as something less than he is so you can be more comfortable.” Mummy took a deep breath. She would be upset then - her cheeks, soft and sparsely freckled, high in colour and a swooping furrow of a frown line resting between her brows. She would be compulsively smoothing down her blouse- a habit that she had when trying to calm herself. Mycroft then heard Mummy continue on, saying, “Now, as far his emotional state, he’s perfectly fine. I love Mycroft just the way he is. And since that it such a problem for you Cecilia, you are free to leave our home and our employment. Have a lovely day.”
> 
>  When Mummy left the study, her colour was still quite high. She visibly calmed herself once more and told Mycroft that they should hurry on as they were already late for lunch. When she started to walk toward the kitchen, she didn’t reach for his hand or try to pick Mycroft up; he had always been too skittish for that. But that day, instead of following in her measured steps, Mycroft held his arms up in a signal to be held. Mummy paused.
> 
> “I did not say those things for your approval Mycroft.”
> 
> “Of course. This is something I want. Just for now,” He had answered.
> 
> Mycroft had never seen Mummy look so happy, and it was then he first felt something warm and soft unfurl inside of him.

               

Perhaps he did love her. Maybe.

 

So,  three years later, as he watched his mother carry a tiny bundle of squalling redness into his room, and  Mycroft found himself to be less than enamoured of it,  he decided (for her sake alone) to be appreciative of this new intrusion on his life.  Or at least pretend to be so.

 

* * *

 

 

Mummy motioned for him to hold the baby, still red faced and crying angrily. He wasn’t pleased to be given the task, and surely Mummy knew it to be so, but she insisted anyhow.  Just as soon as it was placed in Mycroft’s arms, the cries began to taper off until there was simply sniffling and curious eyes peering up at him from inside blue blankets.

“Ah of course,” Mummy said with a half sad smile “neither one of my boys need me at all do they?”

He wanted to reassure her, perhaps tell her that he loved her- regardless of the veracity of the declaration.  Instead he said “I’m still not sure how to emote convincingly and his brain isn’t yet fully developed.” He could feel himself blushing on the back of his neck and cringed to hear himself. He sounded like some slow witted fool. Mycroft knew he was terrible at caring.

Mummy’s smile was bright though. “Right you are my clever love; you’ll need me for a few days yet. But look how quiet he is with you!  He must know it already.” There was a quiet mirth in her tone.

“Know what, Mummy?”

“To whom he belongs.”

Mycroft’s eyes flew to hers, a question in his own. He hadn’t realized that he had been calmly staring into the infant’s eyes for all that time. He had almost forgotten her.

Mummy’s voice was soft and serious when she spoke. “This, Mycroft is your brother.  You must do your very best to care for him. I know that is hard for you but you must try as you never have before- whether he is as clever as you are or as dull as the rest of us. He will look to you first, I can already tell, and you must make yourself worthy of such adoration. You and he will always be connected. He will be your brother alone Mycroft, darling; yours and no one else’s.”

“What did you name him Mummy?” Mycroft asked voice hushed and reverent.

“Sherlock.”

“Sherlock,” he repeated softly. He felt that same nameless thing unfurl inside him again. But this time it wasn’t soft or warm like it had been with Mummy.  This time it was hot and humid, like the wet heat of the manor’s conservatory, and carried the sharp, almost bitter taste of Father’s dark chocolate.  It felt like something turbulent and vast had suddenly grown within him. Like melting or melding or mixing together. Like Mycroft had simultaneously fallen apart and come back together again with the name ‘Sherlock’ taking up the centre of himself.  

But for all the difference, Mycroft knew that the thing that stirred in him with thoughts of Mummy was the same that roiled in him with thoughts of the tiny creature still blinking slowly at him.

 

Overcome, Mycroft simply thought:

Sherlock. _Mine._

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Sherlock Fic so I welcome all comments! Thanks!


End file.
